Wasting Time

When the week just doesn’t end
and it makes my mood go down
I meet with my old real friend
and we are wandering round the town,

or we are sitting in the cafe,
or we are going through the bookshops,
or we are talking about nothing,
or we’re discussing someone’s T-shirts.

And then I go to my grandmother:
she tells me all the latest news,
we read newspapers we have gathered
and then compare our views.

And you can say that it’s not prime,
it’s even not a proper rest,
it’s just the way to waste some time
but as for me, it is the best.

On Saturdays I clean my home
and at full volume music plays,
or I spend ages on the phone
listening to moans and complains,

or try to act as Julius Caesar,
when make a bag or weave a necklace,
and at the same time catch the reason
in Mum’s job stories that are endless,

And with my radio aloud,
and with my tea here on the table –
I think I can be really proud
to do all this at once being able.

If there’s a new film on TV
or old and black and white at least –
there is just this screen space and me –
for others I do not exist.

I read under the fixed moon’s look
(at this time nothing can be done)
and when I try to shut my book
I see that it’s a half past one.

If nothing’s going on Sundays
and nothing’s left for celebrating
I cook a pie or buy some candies
and call my friends to say I’m waiting.

And you can say it’s all not prime,
it’s even not a proper rest,
it’s just the way to spend some time
but as for me, it is the best.